


Scenes From Backstage

by d_dandelions



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Desperation, Established Relationship, M/M, Omorashi, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25245523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_dandelions/pseuds/d_dandelions
Summary: Jaskier's always happy to fulfil requests from his audience
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 34
Kudos: 226
Collections: Witcher Omorashi





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lord help me I'm back making Jaskier wet himself again. I have no excuses here, I got this image in my brain of Jaskier pee dancing while singing and then I couldn't sleep at night so now we have this.
> 
> Geralt you're not safe, I'll get you too eventually
> 
> Hope you enjoy~~

As soon as Geralt arrives back from his hunt Jaskier knows that he’s in for a _night_.

It happens sometimes. A hunt goes particularly well and Geralt comes back in a good mood, thrumming with satisfaction, invigorated by the feeling of being completely in control and wanting to take it all out on something. 

Normally, these days, that ‘something’ ends up being Jaskier. 

Jaskier doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes follow Geralt as he walks from the doorway to the innkeeper who’d posted the contract. He watches with affectionate pride as the witcher collects his coin without any trouble, the innkeeper even going so far as to compliment his efficiency. And, when Geralt comes to _him_ , his expression holding all sorts of delightfully dirty promises for the night, Jaskier twists in his seat to greet him so he doesn’t have to look away for a second.

The shift in position makes him a little too aware of an insistent ache in his bladder. He’d spent most of the afternoon composing and now he can’t quite recall if he remembered to take a break for the privy at any point. The dull throb, distracting now he’s noticed it, suggests not and he decides he’d better take care of it before he finds out what Geralt wants from him tonight.

“If you’ll excuse me for just a moment I need to take a leak. Then I’m all yours, witcher.” 

Sometimes he wants to tie Jaskier up. Sometimes he wants to spank him. Quite often he wants to spend hours taking Jaskier apart, until he’s practically sobbing as he begs Geralt to make him come. And sometimes…..

“Hold it.”

….sometimes he wants other things. 

They haven’t played with this particular one too many times yet but Jaskier _likes_ it. He likes the anticipation of it, the pressure that is pain and pleasure both. He likes the subtle edge of humiliation. Most of all, though, he likes the effect it has on Geralt, how he can _see_ just how badly Geralt wants him when he’s fidgeting to keep it in. He finishes the last of his drink with theatrical flourish and shoots Geralt the most salacious wink he can be expected to manage while he’s simultaneously tripping over himself to get upstairs as fast as possible. He’d be embarrassed by his own eagerness but Geralt is right on his heels, barely waiting until they’ve locked the door behind them before he’s biting marks into Jaskier’s neck and then, bafflingly, pressing the bard’s lute into his hands. 

“I want you to sing.”

Honestly, Jaskier had rather been expecting to get fucked but he can’t quite find it in himself to be _disappointed_ by this turn of events.

“Am I…am I dreaming right now? Only I could have _sworn_ I just heard you say that you want to hear me sing and….fuck, you’re not a Doppler are you?”

Geralt doesn’t dignify that with a genuine response, instead kissing Jaskier fiercely for a moment before pulling back.

“I want to hear you sing,” he repeats, then presses a hand into Jaskier’s bladder hard enough to make him yelp, “and I want to watch you _squirm_.”

Well it’s hard to argue with that. Jaskier gets to work tuning his lute while Geralt seats himself on the sole chair the inn had provided and pours himself a glass of wine. 

“Any particular songs you want to hear?” 

“Any of them. All of them.” Geralt frowns a little. “Not _Her Sweet Kiss_.”

“ _All_ ….of….” Jaskier trails off nervously. He’s been a bard for a long time now. He has a rich and varied repertoire of songs. An _extensive_ rich and varied repertoire of songs.

And a _very_ full bladder. 

He’s not going to make it through all of his songs, he’s probably not going to make it through a quarter of them, and Geralt knows that damn fucking well. Which means he doesn’t just want to watch Jaskier squirm he wants to watch him completely lose control and make a mess of himself in the process.

But if Jaskier was afraid of a challenge and a bit of mess he wouldn’t have spent half his life following after Geralt. 

He finishes his tuning and looks up to see Geralt sprawled in his chair, taking languid sips of wine. His hair is loose, his shirt barely buttoned, and he’s looking at Jaskier with an indifference that’s as strangely compelling as it is completely fabricated. He looks like a bored king assessing his lowly subject, deciding what he wants from his _pet bard_ and it’s turning Jaskier on terribly. Growing up Jaskier had known a great many entitled nobles, ranging from apathetic to naive to cruel, and most of them went to great lengths to appear effortlessly authoritative and powerful. 

Not a single one of them could have come close to matching Geralt in this moment.

He wants to suck the witcher’s cock. He wants to get on his hands and knees and _crawl_ to him. If it wasn’t for the urgent pressure in his bladder, which would make bending down a dangerous move, and Geralt’s insistence that he _perform_ he might even try it. Instead he presses his thighs together, shuffles uncomfortably and starts playing.

Geralt hums appreciatively and takes a long sip of wine. It’s Fiorano, Jaskier’s favourite, which Geralt is usually largely indifferent to. The only reason he’s drinking it now is because he _knows_ watching good wine be wasted on such an underappreciative drinker is going to make Jaskier even antsier and he is, at heart, a horrible tease of a witcher. 

_Fuck_ , Jaskier loves him so much. 

Affection for his beloved witcher aside, Jaskier’s already struggling to concentrate on his singing. Geralt is mostly silent, watching him with the single minded intensity he normally only grants to the grisliest of monsters, and occasionally speaking up to request a song. His utter familiarity with Jaskier’s music is as surprising as it is flattering but the warm rush of endearment that it sparks in the bard’s chest does little to distract him from the desperate ache in his bladder.

It’s not like this is the first time Jaskier’s had to perform while needing to pee. It’s not even the first time he’s performed while needing to pee very _badly_. The first time he’d been specifically requested to perform at court, years ago now, he’d been so intoxicated by his own success, by being sought out and _desired_ , that he’d overindulged in both drinks and encores until he’d been forced to awkwardly excuse himself and rush for the privy. He’d only very barely made it, already starting to leak ever so slightly as soon as he’d got his cock out but _oh_ the sheer _relief_ he’d felt had been transcendent, left him weak at the knees and moaning. It was a wonder he’d been able to compose himself well enough afterwards to return to his performance. 

But this is a ludicrously counterproductive memory to be indulging in right now and Jaskier finds himself having to perform a frantic little hip shimmy to keep his bladder under control. Geralt’s apathetic façade slips completely for a moment as he eyes the movement with _great_ interest and a low, purring growl. Jaskier makes a mental note to tell him the story in detail another time, his witcher will just _love_ it and it will likely earn Jaskier a nice hard fuck if he times himself right. 

Here and now it’s not just the pressure in his bladder that’s distracting him, it’s the way Geralt’s watching him. The witcher is trying to keep his expression passive but Jaskier knows him too well. Even if he didn’t already know how badly Geralt wants to touch him right now the insistent line of his erection is unmistakeable, and it turns Jaskier on all the more to see just what an effect he’s having. 

Geralt pours himself some more wine, holding the bottle needlessly high above the glass, so the sight and sound of flowing liquid fills Jaskier’s senses. He fumbles his chord and squeezes his thighs together, hopping from foot to foot and trying as hard as he can not to leak until Geralt is done. He doesn’t _quite_ succeed, losing a slight trickle into his smallclothes, and he knows that the sharp hitch in his voice when it happens reveals the slip, would have done even to someone who _wasn’t_ able to smell Jaskier’s urine from across the room.

“Master Bard.” Geralt says, with an _unnecessary_ amount of sarcasm and Jaskier pauses playing to gesture rudely at him. He’d like to see _Geralt_ try and concentrate when _he_ was this desperate for a piss.

Now isn’t _that_ a thought?

It’s a thought Jaskier will have to put aside for now, though, he’s distracted enough as it is. No court on the Continent would allow him to perform in this state, he’d be lucky to sing in an obscure tavern in a nameless farming village right now. He can’t keep still, shifting his weight and crossing his legs back and forth constantly, and it’s taking all his willpower not to stop playing so he can jam a hand between his thighs. Jaskier can count on one hand the number of times in his bardic career that his voice has broken unexpectedly mid-song and two of them have been in the last ten minutes.

It’s _humiliating_ how helpless he is to hide his desperation under the weight of Geralt’s gaze, he just knows he’s blushing furiously, and that humiliation is sending fierce spikes of arousal through his gut. He feels so fucking _good_ knowing that Geralt is watching him squirm and wanting him all the more for it. 

He looks up at his witcher and Geralt, still looking so infuriatingly calm and collected, spreads his legs and runs a slow, teasing hand across his erection. 

It would take Jaskier both hands to count his voice breaks now. 

He knows he’s reaching his limit, his bladder is a constant, painful pressure and his music is paying the price. He’d lost something of his vocal range at around the same time he’d lost any ability to keep from squirming and he can _feel_ just how rudimentary his fingering has become. He doesn’t even want to _think_ about how badly his timing has been thrown off now that he can’t keep from tapping his foot frantically and discordantly against the floor.

A particularly sharp urge makes his voice waver on a long note. It sounds horrible, it would have kept him up at night for at least a week if it had happened back at Oxenfurt. Even now it makes him grimace. 

It’s impossible now, for him to hide just how badly he needs to go. When he’d first started playing an uninformed observer might have attributed his fidgeting to stage fright but now, with his trembling legs, incessant squirming and the little whines he can’t quite hold back between the lines of his songs, no one could mistake him for anything but _desperate_. He can’t hold it much longer. He knows he can’t.

In the end it’s his own hubris that gets him. The song he’s playing is one of his most complex, instrumentally, and he _should_ swap the notoriously complicated chord progression of the original ending for the simpler one his more amateur imitators use but this is still, ultimately, a _performance_ and he adamantly refuses to compromise on his own songs. He shifts his attention from his bladder for just a few short seconds as he concentrates on getting the sequence exactly right…

And that’s all it takes.

At first it’s just another short dribble and Jaskier thinks he might be able to stave it off. His hands still on his lute and he stops singing, twisting his legs together and dancing inelegantly on the spot but he realises quickly that it’s too late. It’s a few hot spurts and then it’s a frantic rush that drenches his pants all the way down to the knees. His legs buckle a little and he very nearly drops his lute, overwhelmed by just how good it feels to finally let go. He can’t hold back an indecorous moan at the sheer relief and he hears Geralt echo it from across the room. 

It takes a long, long time for his stream to finish, he’s sure he’s never managed to hold quite _this_ much before, and he pants his way through it. When it eventually slows to a trickle and then, finally, stops he lets out a quiet sigh of satisfaction and looks up at Geralt. The witcher is standing motionless and staring at him, impressively hard, with the chair he’d been sitting on pushed carelessly aside behind him. 

For the first time that evening the room is completely silent, aside from the soft tapping of Jaskier’s piss dripping from his sodden pants down to the hard wooden floor. It’s soon joined by the impossibly faint sound of Geralt’s footsteps as he crosses the room and drops to his knees in front of Jaskier. He’s looking up at him with fierce lust and a sheer, naked affection that he only shows when they’re alone together. It’s Jaskier’s favourite look on him.

“You’ve been a great crowd,” Jaskier says softly, still a little breathless, allowing one hand to drift from his lute to tangle in Geralt’s hair, “three words or less?” 

Geralt lets out a deep exhale and, with tantalising slowness, undoes the fastenings of Jaskier’s soaked breeches. His head is so close to Jaskier’s cock that his every breath sends a jolt of arousal through the bard. By the time he’s finished Jaskier is hard and aching, fighting the urge to buck his hips forward for some desperately needed friction. Geralt pushes the bard’s hand back up to rest on the strings of his lute.

“Don’t. Stop. Playing.” 

His mouth is on Jaskier’s cock the second he’s finished speaking. 

Jaskier keeps playing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'll level with you: when I wrote this fic I had absolutely zero intention of writing another chapter but _then_ someone subscribed to it on I think the first day it was up? And I was honestly just so touched that someone liked a fic I wrote enough to want to see more that I figured I had to write them something so here we are. If you're seeing this you were my first subscriber on ao3 ever, so thank you! Consider this your post-credits scene, except it's the same length as the original which most post-credits scenes are too cowardly to be. Featuring more of Jaskier being distracted by Geralt while trying to perform cerebral tasks yay
> 
> I hope you like it! <3 
> 
> Just a warning, there's some piss drinking in this chapter which was _not_ the plan but ended up happening anyway. It be like that sometimes.

Jaskier makes it through a song and a half before he throws his lute onto the bed so he can bury his hands in Geralt’s hair. He makes it through most of another song a capella before he loses all track of any words but ‘please’, ‘harder’ and ‘Geralt’. 

He’s not sure how many songs it would have been when he comes, hot and hard down Geralt’s throat, and he can’t bring himself to care. 

He _is_ sure that if he could compose a song that sounds half as beautiful as Geralt does when he finally comes, rutting against Jaskier’s thigh like he’s dying for it, he’d retire a very happy bard. 

**

“This little experiment really has exposed an alarming deficiency in my musical ability,” Jaskier says, stretching indulgently in the bathtub and enjoying the feeling of Geralt’s hands rubbing his back, “I can’t concentrate at _all_ when I’m desperate to pee. _Or_ when I’m too turned on. This might be a problem.”

“Jaskier. When would that _ever_ be a problem?” An oft-overlooked perk of Geralt post-orgasm is that he’s far more open to hearing Jaskier’s opinions. Still, Jaskier could have done _without_ the sceptical tone.

“What if someone asks me to perform a twelve hour concert? Or I have to play in a brothel while all sorts of beautiful people perform salacious acts right in front of me? Or-or what if I’m set upon by sirens and the only way I can keep them at bay is by soothing them with my singing? It won’t work at all if I’m too distracted to keep going as soon as I need to pee!”

“And where am I in this scenario?” Geralt sounds _amused_ by the thought of Jaskier in this dire situation which is, quite frankly, rude. He’s losing all the good witcher points he’d obtained with his very nice blowjob. 

“Oh, I’m afraid you perished horribly,” Jaskier says, lightly, “you went out like a hero, if it’s any consolation. As a true artist I would, of course, have been willing to follow my muse into death itself but, with the last of your energy, you took my hand and told me I must _live_ for you. Then we shared a final tender kiss. It was very moving.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt sounds like he’s holding back a _laugh_ now. This is really no way at all to react to a story of your tragic demise and your mourning lover’s ensuing struggle to carry out your dying wish, he’s _terrible_ , Jaskier has no idea why he likes him so much.

“We have to leave early tomorrow,” Geralt says before expending seemingly no effort at all as he lifts Jaskier up and out of the bath.

Okay, maybe Jaskier has _some_ idea why he likes him so much.

He dries himself off, blatantly steals one of Geralt’s shirts to wear and follows his witcher to bed. 

**

He doesn’t think about that particular conversation again until a few weeks later when he steps away from their campsite to take a long overdue piss. He’s just found a suitable tree to empty his bladder on to when he’s being forcibly spun around and roughly shoved back-first into it. He yelps and only barely manages to stop himself from leaking into his smallclothes.

“Who- Geralt?” Of course. Who _else_ would have been able to manoeuvre him with such emasculating ease? “It’s not an _ideal_ time, my dear, I’m quite in need of-“

“I know,” Geralt’s smile is small and sharp, “I’ll let you go. But first you’re going to focus for me.”

“That might be a _bit_ too much to ask right now, Geralt,” his bladder is an urgent distraction and his waistband is digging in uncomfortably. Having been so close to relief is only making it worse and he can’t help fidgeting on the spot in an effort to keep it in.

“You were the one concerned about your concentration,” it’s only taking Geralt one hand against Jaskier’s chest to keep him still and the other’s toying with the fastenings of his trousers, “what if I was _visiting_ you at Oxenfurt and you got called to a lecture before we could finish? You might not have time to stop and relieve yourself either,” Geralt noses up the side of his neck and growls into his ear, “you’d have to go to your students wanting me and desperate to piss. How terrible.” 

It’s a humiliating thought and Jaskier blushes at the way his cock jumps at it, right under Geralt’s hand. 

“You couldn’t show how distracted you were, of course,” Geralt draws Jaskier’s cock out and strokes the shaft, loosely, teasingly, “you’d have to give your lecture as if nothing was wrong.” Geralt’s hand is already slick with oil. He’s been _planning_ this. 

Jaskier’s whole body is thrumming with pure need and he shifts his weight restlessly from foot to foot. 

“So, Professor Pankratz,” Geralt says, thumbing the head of Jaskier’s cock and making him gasp, “teach me some musical theory.”

Fuck, Jaskier’s not going to be able to accept another Oxenfurt teaching position for the rest of his _life_ with _this_ particular moment burned into his brain. 

Jaskier sucks in a long breath and tries as best he can to remember the outline of his basic fundamentals lecture. He skips his usual preamble about the importance of studying music theory entirely, having tried it on Geralt many times before to no avail, and begins with some terminology.

“Um, at its most basic, the language of music is constructed from notes and rests,” Geralt hums in approval and rewards Jaskier with a firm stroke of his cock. Jaskier’s breath stutters, “t-to determine what sound the note represents you look to its position on the, ah! Oh gods, on the, er, stave!”

He wishes he had something to sketch on; the theory is much harder to convey without visuals and harder still with Geralt touching him like this. At least his growing erection makes his full bladder slightly easier to handle. An idea strikes him and he gently traces a line with his finger on the side of Geralt’s neck, feeling the witcher’s slow pulse speed up as he does.

“From bottom to top: first line,” he moves his finger up ever so slightly and traces a parallel line, “second,” he traces another line and Geralt twists his hand on his cock as he does, “ _fuck_ , er, third... fourth….and, finally, the fifth line.” He’s panting and he’s completely lost his train of thought. Geralt’s hand stills the moment he stops talking and Jaskier moans. He tries to buck his hips forward for some friction but Geralt pushes a firm thigh against him, pinning him even more thoroughly to the tree. He squirms.

“Stay still. Keep going.”

“ _Geralt_ , I _need_ to-“

“Keep. Going.”

He grinds his heel back into the bark of the tree in a futile attempt to refocus his mind. He’d _never_ be trying to teach a class in this state, he’d find an excuse, _any_ excuse would do at this point, and rush back to his office for a quick wank and a desperately needed piss. None of his excuses are going to work on Geralt. He clears his throat.

“To work out the pitch of the note, look to the clef on the far left of the stave,” Geralt’s stroking him again and it’s as welcome as it is infuriatingly distracting, “the most common are the Treble Clef,” he traces its twists onto Geralt’s neck, “and the Bass.” Geralt turns his head as Jaskier goes to form the shape and licks a slow line along his finger, catching the tip gently between his teeth. Jaskier’s dick twitches frantically even as the wetness of Geralt’s tongue sends a jolt of urgent need straight to his bladder and he’s forced to twist his hips in a frantic dance to keep from leaking. 

“Oh _gods_ , Geralt,” it comes out strained and needy, “ _fuck_ , okay, moving on from-“ 

Geralt sinks to his knees in front of Jaskier and the bard’s voice breaks off in a high wail when Geralt abruptly swallows him down to the root. 

He really thinks he’s about to lose it, right into the inviting warmth of Geralt’s mouth and he slams his open palm back into the tree behind him with a whimper. Geralt kneels, with Jaskier’s cock resting in his mouth, completely motionless and waits for Jaskier to get himself back under control. Eventually, he does. He sings a treble scale as best he can, given the circumstances, and decides that will suffice. Geralt won’t be writing any papers on this, after all. 

“Timing! Is…er, _fuck_ , there are….beats!” He taps the duration of a semibreve, minim, crotchet and quaver against Geralt’s head and loses his focus yet again when Geralt matches each note with an equivalently timed lick of his cock. 

“Rests are….also there,” he’s thankful that Geralt lacks any genuine interest in music theory. He’d never forgive himself if this had been the witcher’s first introduction to the topic. He traces the shape of a quaver rest over Geralt’s forehead and promptly forgets the appearance of any other.

Geralt’s gently massaging his stomach, right over his bladder, and Jaskier’s ready to cry. He feels frantic, not sure if he’s more desperate to piss or come, torn between fucking harder into Geralt’s mouth and pushing him away entirely so he can empty his bladder right into the dirt he’s standing on, damn his boots and damn Geralt. He can’t quite remember where he’s up to in his lecture, he’s sure he’s skipping something important about intervals, but he tries to keep his voice steady as he moves on. 

“You remember the notes we, _oh_ , learnt about before?”

Without any further prompting Geralt swallows hard around Jaskier’s dick and hums a perfect ascending scale. Jaskier’s vision blurs and he slams his head back into the tree behind him with a howl.

“Don’t _stop_ , Geralt, please, _please_ don’t stop!”

Deciding to take pity on him for the first time tonight Geralt grips Jaskier’s arse hard, forcing him even further down the witcher’s throat as he hums the same sequence in reverse. Jaskier’s eyes roll back and he comes with a harsh wail, gripping Geralt’s shoulders as hard as can in an effort to keep himself upright. 

The satisfaction of his orgasm lasts for only the few seconds it takes for him to remember that he still needs to piss, preferably _right now_ and that Geralt hasn’t moved from his dick yet. He loses a tiny trickle right into the witcher’s mouth and stutters in sheer humiliation.

“Geralt, you _need_ to- I _can’t_ \- it’s _urgent_ , Geralt!”

In response Geralt lets his jaw slacken a little and runs his tongue teasingly over Jaskier’s oversensitive slit. He loses a few more spurts with a humiliated whimper, feeling the constriction of Geralt’s throat as he swallows them. He’s still trying, trying so hard, to hold it in when Geralt reaches a hand to rub soothing circles just above his hip. He’s been holding himself so tense for so long that he can’t help but relax, just a little, into the touch…..

And then he’s losing it, gushing powerfully and uncontrollably right down Geralt’s throat and he can barely remember to feel embarrassed because it feels so _good_ to finally let go. Geralt’s swallowing it all, without a hint of distaste or discomfort on his face and his hand has drifted over Jaskier’s bladder, feeling the tension lessen gradually under his touch. 

It takes long enough for Jaskier’s bladder to empty that he’s grateful for Geralt’s enhanced lung capacity and, as soon as he’s finished, he slides weightlessly down the tree and nuzzles his face into Geralt’s neck, half chastising, half apologetic. He notices for the first time that Geralt’s come as well, without a hand on him, just from the look and sound and, fuck, _taste_ of Jaskier losing control and he basks in the flattering warmth of being so badly desired. 

Geralt, probably sniffing out his happy feelings, peculiar man that he is, moves to kiss him but he jolts back with a shriek.

“Absolutely _not_! I know _exactly_ where that mouth has been, thank you _very_ -“

He’s interrupted by the sight of Geralt dramatically pouring half a waterskin into his mouth before spitting it out into the bushes.

“Now?”

“Why did you even _bring_ that?” Jaskier gestures to the waterskin, “our camp’s thirty seconds away at the very, very most.”

Somehow _this_ is the first thing that’s made Geralt look embarrassed tonight.

“You get....thirsty sometimes. Afterwards.” 

“…….oh.” Jaskier really can’t resist kissing Geralt now, trying not to focus on any lingering tastes when he does.

“You did well,” Geralt says, “we’ll keep practicing until you can manage a whole lecture.” He says it with a small smile but Jaskier’s not _completely_ sure he’s joking. Jaskier’s thoughts turn to his students and he groans imagining trying to lecture them while images of Geralt sucking his cock and _drinking_ his fucking _pee_ dance through his brain. He sighs, long and melodramatic. 

“You’ve ruined me, you know? I used to have quite a lucrative teaching career.” Jaskier says, mournfully and Geralt laughs.

“Oh, it’s all very funny to you, isn’t it? You think you’re so tough with your ridiculous self-control. Bastard. Just wait, you won’t be laughing when I’ve got _you_ begging _me_.”

His righteous indignation lasts right up until Geralt kisses him again, playfully this time and, as he kisses him back, he can’t help but laugh a little too. 

**

Two months later in an empty room Geralt’s shifting where he sits as he measures ingredients.

Pringrape, crushed and flattened under a knife, mixed with beggartick blossoms is easy enough to add to the base oil but the devourer’s blood will be corrosive if he doesn’t heat it slowly enough and he doesn’t have ingredients to spare. He adds the alchemy paste to neutralise it. The finished oil won’t apply to the sword quite as smoothly but this is the safest way to do it quickly and…..

He really should have used the privy before he started. 

He’d needed to go when he and Jaskier arrived at the inn but he’d put the urge aside to focus on arranging a room and food before it got too late for Jaskier to perform. At the time making sure they would be acquiring at least a little coin tonight had been a more pressing concern than his bladder. Then Jaskier was going downstairs to perform and Geralt realised he’d have some uninterrupted time to prepare some potions and sword oils and he’d decided, again, that his needs were less of a priority and he’d be fine to hold it. Stupid, _stupid_ decision. Now he’s got to add hydragenum to the mix which, like most magical things, requires delicate handling and a lot of concentration. He tenses his thighs and shifts his legs a little closer together.

He taps a foot ever so slightly against the ground as he mixes the wilted arenaria into the oil. There. The finished product wouldn’t have won him any praise at Kaer Morhen but it will do the job and now he can _finally_ rid himself of the aching pressure in his bladder. In response to his pre-emptive relief a particularly sharp urge shoots through his midsection and he’s reduced to gripping his crotch like a child. _Fuck_ he needs to find a chamber pot _now_.

It occurs to him that he hasn’t heard Jaskier’s faint music drifting up from downstairs in a few minutes in the exact moment he hears the door of the room open. Jaskier’s back. 

And here he is, sitting bent over with a hand between his thighs, completely, unmistakeably desperate for a piss.

“Well, well, _well_ ,” Jaskier’s smiling hungrily as he crosses the room to Geralt with predatory focus. Geralt swallows. 

“What _ever_ am I going to do with _you_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Spare a thought for the poor guests in the adjoining rooms who had to spend the night listening to increasingly shitty live music through the walls, they’re the real heroes here. 
> 
> I hope you liked this! If you did please let me know what you enjoyed and feel free to come hang out with me on tumblr at diuretic-dandelions anytime!!


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